The Most Unexpected Friendship
by Magali1
Summary: Tim forms an unexpected friendship. One-shot.


**A/N:**I don't really know where this fic came from but I wanted to write it so I did. Enjoy :)

* * *

There comes a point where you seriously start to wonder when things flipped in your life. Tim was positive that that moment had already occurred for him. He leaned his arms on the bar at Buddy's, narrowing his eyes and looking across the rather empty space at the other man, studying him for a moment. "I should go rescue him," he said, picking up a stir stick and chewing on the end for a moment.

Eric, who was in town visiting with Julie and Matt, lifted his beer bottle up and shook his head. "Buddy doesn't need rescued. He just needs a safety net everywhere he goes."

"I think I'm that safety net."

"How long have you been here now?"

"Couple years," Tim said, continuing to chew on the stick. Part-time, when he wasn't working other random jobs around town. He was doing something that he hadn't told anyone yet, except Buddy. He wondered if he should talk to Coach about it. Wasn't like it was a good area to be involved in, but still. He pushed himself back from the bar. "Want another?"

"I really shouldn't."

"Means you should." He set another beer in front of his former coach, turning his head slightly as Buddy stormed around the side of the bar, a couple of suits leaving. He glanced at Coach, who just shook his head to leave it alone. Eh, I'll f ind out anyway. He met Buddy's eye. "Problem?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with Tim Riggins."

He always did that, which used to be slightly annoying, but now Tim found it amusing. He smiled a little, looking down at the rag he'd picked up to wipe down the bar. "Yeah? What'd they want?"

"I said you don't have to concern yourself with it." Tim cocked his head, lifting his eyebrow slightly at Buddy. He smiled slightly, his eyes narrowing again. Come on. You'll tell me. If I just keep smiling like this you'll…Buddy finally sighed. There it is. "It's just some investors. I'm going to expand Buddy's from Carr County into Travis."

Travis County? That's Austin, he thought, sharing another look with Coach, who seemed surprised. "Buddy's is doing that well?" he asked.

"We're merging with Ray's in Austin," Buddy explained. He waved his hand. "And I told you, they want me to get into some sort of endorsement deal thing. I'm buying an ad on an Indy car in advance. It was supposed to be handled, but…well, maybe not so much now."

Holy shit, an ad on a racecar? That was like thousands of dollars, depending on the car, Tim thought, his eyes widening. "Um, do you have that money?"

"Well…."

I bet you put something up for it. He sighed, dropping the rag into a bin beneath the bar. "Guess you're gonna' have to pay Coach."

Eric shook his head, taking a sip of the second beer. "Guess I am."

"Tim your paycheck is going to be a little late."

Of course it is. Tim smiled tightly. "Sounds great." He sighed, waiting for Buddy to go into his office and close the door. He looked over at Coach, shrugging. "You sure you don't want to move back Coach?"

His former coach chuckled, shook his head, and grinned. "Nope. Congratulations, by the way."

Congratulations? For what? Tim looked up as Coach stood, tossing cash onto the bar to cover the beers. Including what looked like a nice tip for me, he thought, pushing the extra money back towards Coach. It was a ritual they went through whenever Eric visited the bar and he served him. I don't take your money, he thought. He put the cash for the beer into the register, looking up as Eric walked to the door, turning and pushing his sunglasses over his eyes as he leaned on the door. "For what?" he finally asked. Since he couldn't figure it out.

Eric smiled again. "You're the new Buddy Handler."

Ah, yeah, he sighed, nodding as Coach left. He turned around, leaning against the register, Buddy coming out of the office on his phone, shouting about how he wanted to get a meeting with someone for tomorrow or else there'd be problems. He shook his head again, reaching into his back pocket for the cell phone he'd finally been forced to buy. He sent a text to someone he never, ever spoke with. _Buddy wants to buy a racecar._

A second later, it came back and he smiled. _Well he can't lose anymore of my college money so let him buy the racecar. _Then there was one of those stupid little colon face things that he didn't understand.

He looked up as Buddy wandered back in, shouted at the empty space about where were the college kids since he'd established dollar-beer nights, and then went back into his office. Tim sent another text. _He's yelling at nothing. Put him in a home._

_I should put him in your home. You're the new handler. You and Coach Taylor can get t-shirts made. _

He smiled again; it felt nice to actually smile. "Tim Riggins!" Buddy shouted. "Come back here, I have a task for you." Ugh, he thought, shutting off the phone and leaving it on the bar, walking into the back to find out what ridiculous plan Buddy had up his sleeve.

* * *

"Tim, what do you do in your free time?"

Apparently I answer your questions. Tim closed the fridge at Buddy's, checking the list that he'd been given to make sure that there were certain foods and were not certain foods. He opened up a cupboard, removing a bag of chips and opened them up, carrying them into the living room. "You're not supposed to have these Mr. Garrity," he said; he took a handful and then passed the bag to him.

"What's Lyla going to do to me?" Buddy snorted. He waited a second, his hand in the bag, but he hadn't taken any yet. He glanced sideways. "She tell you to check my fridge?"

Tim held up the fistful of post-its that he'd found on the bar this morning. "Yup." He'd been gone the night before, working at one of his other jobs, like he often did when his 'text buddy' as Billy called her, was in town. They didn't see each other, which was for the best. He also knew that Buddy preferred it that way.

Buddy snorted, eating a couple of chips before he rolled up the bag, passing it back over. "Put this away."

Ha. She's getting to you. Maybe. Tim shrugged, doing as he was requested. He shoved the post its into his pocket. "I gotta' go. See you tomorrow."

"Hey wait, you didn't answer my question."

Why do you care? He turned around, his hand on the doorknob. He blinked, waiting a moment; Buddy wasn't even looking at him, he was watching the TV, sitting back in his chair with all he needed at hand. He'd had a stress test earlier, which was the only reason why Tim was in his apartment, because he'd had to pick him up from the doctor. He shrugged, his voice quiet. "Why?"

"Just wondering. You've been…quiet."

Mr. Garrity what do you care, he wondered, frowning a little. He shrugged, answering vaguely again. "Just doing my thing sir. Like always." He lifted his fingers in a wave. "See you around."

"Wait, Tim! The thing is…" Buddy looked over, reaching for his bottle of water. He took a sip, slowly and purposefully. He looked up again. "I know a nice girl that I think you might hit it off with."

Holy crap. Tim stared. Are you serious? He blinked. "Um…what?"

"A nice girl, she's secretary in the investment firm office. Met her a few times for meetings, I think you and her might hit it off. You want her number?" Buddy shrugged, continuing to speak, his eyes on the television. "I'm not stupid Tim Riggins, I know who you are and what you do but I know that lately you haven't been doing what you used to do and I think you might need to let off some steam."

Let off some steam with the secretary from the investment firm office? Tim clicked his tongue. This was about Lyla. "Mr. Garrity, I'm not…" he sighed hard. "I'm fine, sir. Thank you."

"Just saying because Angela Collette is my second bartender and I don't want her leaving again because you and her daughter…"

Oh Good Lord, I'm talking about my love life with Buddy Garrity and it had nothing to do with Lyla? Surreal, he thought, shaking his head. "Sir," he interrupted, holding his hand up. "Tyra and I are not…you don't have to worry about that."

"Anyone else I gotta' worry about?"

Choose your words carefully, his conscience told him. He closed his eyes. So stupid. "Mr. Garrity, you don't have anything to worry about." He opened up the door, effectively ending the conversation. "I'm fine. I don't need any setups."

Buddy finally tore his attention from the television. He stared straight at him for a moment; Tim flashed back to when he was in high school, a couple of years before, and he got that stare when he was late picking her up or the one time he was arriving to practice after sneaking out of her room. He blinked a few times before smiling again. "Well fine then. Just making sure you're taken care of Tim. Don't want you to be lonely."

I'm fine sir, he thought, leaving Buddy and walking out of the apartment. He paused on the landing, his hands in his pockets. He looked down at his old black truck and at his old brown boots. He turned his head back to the door. How many times had he come out of that apartment? Hundreds. He usually didn't think about it but now he was. I'm not lonely, he thought, slightly defensive at Buddy's accusation. I'm…I've got things. People.

He reached into his pocket and removed his cell phone, calling Billy. They didn't hang out near the amount they used to. He waited until Billy picked up, trying to smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. "You want to do something tonight?"

"Ah…can't. We have a team thing. You can come you know."

No, I don't want to come. I don't want to be one of those guys that hangs around the high school team because it's all they have left in the world. He shook his head, declined, and then had to hang up because one of the kids was crying for Billy. He hung up, looking at his phone again. I need to blow off steam, he thought, shoving it away and walking quickly down the stairs to his truck.

He pulled his phone out when he got to his truck, climbing in and hitting one of the top contacts. She answered on almost the first ring. "You want to come with me?" he asked, without saying a word. "Could use someone right now."

"I'll be there in like twenty minutes."

He hung up, shoving the phone into the cupholder and drove off, already feeling his heart racing. About thirty minutes later, he climbed out of his truck, walking over towards Becky, who was already waiting, leaning against her car. "You having a bad day?" she asked.

"Buddy's driving me crazy."

"You should make this your job, you know."

Tim entered his garage and with Becky's help, removed the cover from the Corvette he'd rebuilt from the frame up. Legally. With legal parts too. Even if he had been able to locate some cheaper ones that he knew came from chopped cars. He plucked the keys from the toolbox where he hid them and climbed in the front seat as Becky got in the passenger side. He revved up the engine, which was purring like a kitten as he drove it slowly from its berth.

He shoved his sunglasses on. "Not an industry for washed up football players that can drive a car."

"Well I'm sure you'll find one." She shoved her sunglasses on. "You're pretty lonely."

I'm not lonely, he wanted to scream. He drowned out any thoughts he might have had, spinning the Corvette out of the garage and towards the tracks that crossed his land, shifting gears quickly as the speedometer cranked up.

* * *

"I'm not lonely, I have you."

Tim had once again been accused of hermit-hood, so he'd gone to the humane society and now he had a thing staring back at him. He wasn't sure what breed the animal was and neither was the human society. He narrowed his eyes at the dog, who was sitting in front of him, tail thumping and tongue lolling out. "I have you now," he said again. He scowled. "Hemi."

It was the first thing he'd thought. Plus, he'd been working on one of his cars out back. It seemed to suit the large crossbreed of what the vet believed was St. Bernard and Newfoundland. It was a mottled gray, black, white, and brown with a giant head and droopy eyes. Drool dripped onto his hardwood floors. "That's going to have to stop," he advised the dog, reaching for a towel and wiping at his mouth. He made a face, smushing it into the dog's.

Hemi woofed and licked him, which was practically a bath. Tim made a face and hugged the dog, letting him go. He looked over his shoulder, watching Hemi wrestle in his bin of toys and run back with a large rope. "Wanna' play?" he asked, promising himself he wouldn't talk baby talk to the dog. He pulled on the rope and almost dislocated his shoulder when Hemi tugged back. "Ouch."

See I'm not lonely, he thought again, letting go of the rope and walking into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and removed a beer, turning just as his phone rang in the cradle against the wall. He grabbed it, not bothering to check the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Tim!"

His eyes widened. "Lyla?" It had been years since he'd actually heard her voice. "What's going on?" he demanded. This was serious. She sounded like she was in the midst of hysterics. Which took a lot to get her to that point. "Garrity, what's happening, talk."

"My dad…I'm…I'm on my way to the airport, I don't know what happened, but he's in Austin and he collapsed and they called me and I can't…you'll get there faster, I need you to get there. Please."

"Where is he?" Tim demanded, whistling for his dog and grabbing his car keys. He'd drop Hemi off at Becky's. He rushed out of the house, not bothering to lock up behind him and got into his truck. He felt half of it sink into the ground as Hemi jumped into the passenger side, rather nimbly for an animal his size. "Lyla!" She wasn't talking.

"Oh, um…he's…um, Texas…Texas Methodist…I think that's the name of it."

I'll figure it out. He drove out of his driveway and hit the accelerator, spinning wheels down the street. She was babbling. Something about his heart rate and his blood pressure and maybe he was in Room 202, she wasn't sure. "Hey," he exclaimed, breaking her rambling. He took a deep breath. This was serious. "Garrity. He'll be fine."

She was quiet. "You don't call me that. Ever."

"I don't talk to you. Ever."

"Texting."

"You called me for this," he said. That was enough for him. He smiled briefly, even though she couldn't see. "I'm on my way. Let me know your flight, I'll get you at the airport."

"No, I'll get a cab. Call me with any details and updates please."

"Okay." He wasn't sure how to sign off, but she was in such a state that she just hung up without another word. He glanced at Hemi, who was staring at him from the passenger seat. "It'll be okay." Hemi woofed his agreement.

After he dropped off Hemi with Becky- "_Holy shit that dog is huge!" – _Tim got on the highway headed east to Austin. He went over the speed limit more than a few times on the drive, getting there in three hours instead of the usual four. It didn't take long to get to the hospital and he ran inside, spoke to someone at an administration desk, and was on his way up to the cardiac unit a moment later.

He walked out of the elevator, straight into a desk. "Um, Buddy Garrity?" he asked, his voice soft. It was always quiet in hospitals. Freaked him out. Quiet and they smelled funny. Like old people and death.

"Are you family?" the receptionist asked. Her nametag said she was "Susan." Susan smiled politely, but firm. "I'm afraid visiting hours are over for friends and we just allow family in at this point."

He hesitated. His rules on not ever breaking the law extended mostly to felonies and small crimes and misdemeanors. Traffic laws? He broke numerous ones daily. White lies? Eh, the jury was out on that one. He didn't think this counted as a felony or misdemeanor, so he easily answered her question once he'd justified it to himself. "I'm his son."

Susan's brow flickered. "His son? You?"

He grinned quickly. "I look like my mom."

"What's your name sweetie?" She was instantly a bit nicer, reaching for a sheet of nametags. She wrote in Buddy's name and room number and glanced up. "Name?"

"Tim Riggins."

"Riggins?" she echoed.

He smiled again. "Took my mom's name." He took the nametag from her and affixed it to the pocket of his corduroy and shearling coat, following her down the hallway and to another corridor. She stopped outside of the room and gestured inside. He paused, peering into the room. He didn't want to go in there. "Um…" He turned around, but Susan was already walking back to her post at the desk. He leaned towards a nurse walking out of another room. "Hey, sorry, um, can someone tell me…"

The nurse glanced at his nametag. "Buddy Garrity?" She brought down a computer from the wall beside Buddy's door, clicking her tongue and typing away. A second later she smiled, glancing up at him. "He's doing fine. The doctor has him scheduled for double bypass first thing in the morning."

Double bypass!? His eyes widened. "Surgery?"

"It's a fairly common procedure."

Tim didn't think anything was common if you were splitting open someone's chest. "Um, can I go inside?" he asked.

"Go right ahead, keep it down though, there are patients resting."

Yeah, fine. He walked into the room, unsure what he should even say if Buddy was awake. Thankfully, when he emerged in front of Buddy's bed, between a thin curtain tugged around it, separating his side of the room from the empty other side, Tim found that he was asleep.

Shit, he thought. He looked very small in the bed. Old too, Tim thought, frowning slightly. Buddy Garrity had always struck him as very…young, despite his outward appearance at times. Maybe it was how naïve he could be. Or just plain immature. He stepped towards him and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Damn Buddy," he murmured. He sighed, reaching for his phone. He sent Lyla a text, since she was probably on the plane now, telling her that he was fine and was having a bypass in the morning.

He sat down in a chair beside Buddy's bed, looking at him for a few more minutes. "You know," he whispered. He felt angry all of a sudden. "You could have listened to her." He took a deep breath. "I don't do this stuff Mr. Garrity. I'm not that guy that comes to the hospitals to check on dads. You could have listened to everyone telling you to be careful and stop drinking." Hypocrite, I know, but still. I'm not well into my fifties and living like I was twenty. He scowled. "You're scaring her. You shouldn't do that. She puts up with a lot from you. Always has. Now you're dragging me into it and I can't do this for her forever. I can't be your babysitter."

He slumped in the chair. "Guess that's just what happens," he said, more to himself than anything. This whole conversation was for himself. Tim sighed. "You're the town's hermit. I'm the one following after you." The two lonely guys. The high school football stars, he thought. We just did different things with our lives. Didn't matter, we'll probably end up the same. Alone. With someone else to watch us before that person follows in our footsteps.

I don't want to be that person, Tim thought, frowning deeper. He didn't want to have to have someone babysitting him to make sure he didn't get into trouble and coming to the hospital when he passed out from a heart attack. Or in his case, as Becky always told him, liver failure.

"I don't want to be you," Tim mumbled.

"What are you talking about Tim Riggins?"

He looked up, glancing at Buddy, who was wincing and shifting a little on the bed. "You're awake," Tim commented.

"Feels like…" Buddy groaned, reaching to touch his chest. "Like I got an elephant on my chest. Hell, what happened?"

"You want some water?"

"Well I'm just going to cough and blubber over here, so yes, water might be nice."

"What's the magic word?"

"Are you serious?"

"I'm not answering you until you say it." I hold the power, Tim thought, smiling briefly.

Buddy scowled. "Give me the damn water."

"Well I guess that's better." He poured him a cup of water and stuck a straw into it. "Open wide!"

"I'll kill you."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Oh my God." They both turned their heads to the doorway, where Lyla was standing, looking exhausted and frazzled. She dropped a small roller bag suitcase and a tote bag, hurrying to the other side of the bed, where she started fussing with blankets and the shoulder of his hospital gown and wires hanging off the side of the bed plugged into computer screens on the wall. "Daddy, honestly, you look miserable. How are you feeling?" She didn't wait for his answer, looking over at Tim and smiling wide. "Thank you for coming Tim. It means a lot."

"Yeah." He smiled back and took a step away. "I'll just…"

Buddy scowled. "No. You stay."

Lyla's eyebrow went clear to her hairline. "You want him to stay?" She smirked. "I have seen everything now."

"I don't hate him Miss Lyla."

"I never said you did Daddy."

Tim smiled at Buddy. "I let Billy know on the way here, he said that he'll get them to put the game on local TV or something so you can watch from your hospital room. If you weren't out in time." Since the game was in two days, that was a greater likelihood than it had been when he talked to Billy.

"Good."

"No stress," Lyla chided. She fussed some more with him and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "You worried me sick. I'm still worried."

"I'll be fine."

"Well I know, you have Tim here."

Tim smiled at her. That was nice to say. He reached for the remote at the side of the bed, pointing it towards a flatscreen propped up on a bureau across from the bed. "What do you say, while you're awake, we check on what the Cowboy's chances are of beating the Eagles this week?"

Buddy settled his head into his pillows, clearly tired, but forcing his eyes open. "Pretty bad I'd say."

"Yeah, well Smash is having a good year." He patted the chair beside him. "Have a seat Garrity."

Lyla glanced between the both of them, shaking her head and smiling. "It's nice you guys are finally getting along." She sat down in the chair, mumbling. "Could have happened ten years ago."

* * *

"Why do you always leave like this?"

Lyla tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, leaning down for another boot. She shoved her foot into it and began to do up the laces to her shin. She glanced over her shoulder, grinning slyly. "Leave like what?"

Tim wasn't amused. He shifted from his position at the head of the bed in his hotel room, scowling. "Like this. Putting your shoes on and leaving like nothing happened."

"Nothing happened."

He scowled deeper. "I didn't wake up to you at my door crying and having a breakdown after your father woke up after surgery?"

She shrugged, walking across the room to pick up her shirt, pulling it on and began to do up the buttons. She mumbled so soft he could hardly hear her. "I needed someone."

"And I'm that someone?"

"Tim what do you want me to say? I had a breakdown, my father almost died and I just…it was a lot of emotions and you're here…"

Tim climbed out of bed, pulling his jeans on. He grabbed his t-shirt, yanking it over his head. I'm sick of that. Sick of people treating me like the one they call when they want to relive old times, which was Tyra. Sick of people treating me like their big brother, which was Becky, even though he didn't mind that relationship. Then there was her, using him as a bandaid when she felt like it. "I'm someone, you know," he said, feeling defensive. "I actually have a life."

Lyla turned around from the mirror, where she'd been looking to pull her hair back into a messy ponytail. She smiled slightly. "A life? My dad said that you guys watch football every Sunday at his house. That you sometimes grab dinner in the week."

"I work for him."

"Tim you don't work for him. You help him."

"So?" he demanded.

"You work odd jobs and your longest relationship is with my father," Lyla said. She frowned deeper. Her voice was sad. It wasn't pitying. Tim knew her better than that, she'd never pity him. "You're lonely," she whispered. She walked towards him, reaching for his forearms, but he pushed her away, not wanting to hear it. "Tim."

I'm not lonely. I'm just…he turned slightly, staring at her for a moment. "You have a boyfriend?" he suddenly asked.

She glanced away, her fingertips rising to cover her mouth. Yes. That was a yes. "No."

"Liar."

"Shut up."

"I know you better than you know yourself," he whispered, tapping his finger to her nose. He smirked. "And yes, I help your dad. Would you rather have someone helping him who knows him or someone who doesn't? Who will let him make all those dumb mistakes."

Lyla smiled, looking up at him again. "It's like the blind leading the blind with you two."

"So what?" He didn't even know what that was supposed to mean. He shrugged. "I help him. You don't have to visit Dillon every holiday to make sure he's eating right and not blowing money and keeping the business up. You want to start paying me to make yourself feel better? I don't care, I could use the cash. For now, I do it because I like him. I am not going to be him."

"I didn't say you were!" she laughed. She reached for his face, whispering against his lips. "Is that what this is about? You think you're going to be my dad?"

"No." Yes.

She arched an eyebrow again, shaking her head slightly. "Liar."

"Shut up."

"I know you better than you know yourself." She was just repeating his words from before, but it was true. They knew each other inside and out. Lyla let go of him, going to get her jacket from where they'd thrown it on the chair by the door. She pulled it on and picked up her bag from the floor. She turned, smiling again. "It was nice Tim. Thank you. Last night."

Yeah, sure, don't mention it, he thought, not saying anything. He picked up his phone, checking to see if he had any messages. Billy. Becky. He didn't have many contacts outside of them. He looked over at her again; she hadn't left. Tim shrugged, his hands going into his pockets. He was dead serious when he spoke again. "I'm not lonely. Next time you knock on my door it better be for something longer than a night. And I'm not talking three days either."

I'm sick of this shit, he felt like adding, but he didn't. Lyla knew. She nodded and opened up the door, leaning against it for a moment before glancing over her shoulder again. "I'll see you at the hospital."

Tim sank onto the edge of the tousled bed once the door clicked shut. He scrubbed at his face, peering through his fingers at the blank television screen in front of him. This whole being an adult thing sucked, he thought, dropping his hands to his knees. He took his phone again and called back the people who had left messages, concerned. Called Coach and Mrs. Taylor to let them know that he was fine and even called Buddy Jr. to let him know his dad was fine too. Maybe Lyla had already made those calls, he didn't know.

A moment later his phone rang. Becky. "How's Mr. Garrity?"

"Do you listen to your voicemail?"

"No, because it's the same as always from you." She dropped her voice. "It's Tim. I hate this thing. Call me." She reverted back to normal. "You never leave messages."

"I hate voicemail."

"Well what's up? How is Mr. Garrity?" So he told her, leaving out the part of his and Lyla's hookup. Becky was not to be fooled. "Did you and Lyla get back together for a night? You're good at doing that. So I've been told of course."

"Of course." He sighed. "Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Nothing, I just want to know how surly you're going to be now."

"I'm not surly!"

"You are the definition of surly."

Tim slumped onto the floor, staring at the ceiling. I hate that. Hate that that's the first thing she thought of him. Which he shouldn't, because he normally didn't give a shit what people thought of him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Do you think I'm lonely?" he whispered.

Becky was quiet for a few seconds. She took a deep breath, answering softly and carefully. "I think you have family that loves you and friends that love you too. I think you're good at both of them. Taking care of family and friends. I think you have a bunch of different jobs because you don't have a clear vision, which is fine. No one needs to have that always. I think…"

"Becky."

"Yeah," she finally answered. "Yeah Tim. I think sometimes you get lonely and you don't know it. You think you're fine, but…you live in that big house by yourself and maybe it's different now that you have this beast of a dog, but…I think sometimes you can get lonely. It's just who you are. It's why I love you. You don't always like being around people and that's fine."

"You think I'm gonna' end up like Buddy Garrity?"

She snorted. "Oh my God, no. You're not like that. Besides, why do you care?"

"I don't care." He didn't. It was just…he didn't know. He didn't want to be like that. Having people take care of him. Be a burden or something. He raked his fingers through his hair. "I gotta' go to the hospital. I'll be home tomorrow."

"Hemi ate my Betsey Johnson shoes that cost me three paychecks."

"What?"

"Nevermind. You owe me new sandals is all."

Tim hung up before she tried to get him to buy her a whole new wardrobe. That's what Luke was for, but Luke was squirreling away all his Army money so he could buy them a nice house when he got out and moved back. He climbed to his feet and grabbed his jacket, heading to the hospital.

A few hours later, he was on his way back to Dillon, once he'd been assured by Lyla that Buddy was fine and he'd been assured by Buddy that he'd be fine and back to the bar soon enough. He had a list of things he had to get to anyway, since he was the only one who knew the bar as well as Buddy, if not more, since he did a lot of the ordering.

The night, he'd collected Hemi, and gone to the bar, where he set about checking the receipts (which he hated) and doing the inventory (which he hated even more) and then ultimately ended up sitting in front of the computer, doing payroll (which he hated the absolute most). By the end of it, he was exhausted.

He reached into the desk drawer for a new pencil, after his other one broke checking his math on the paycheck stuff, and frowned, removing a folded up piece of paper. He stared at it. Buddy's handwriting just said "Tim."

The hell, he wondered, pulling it open. He looked down at the computer text. It was some sort of contract thing. He scanned through it a few times, until his mouth fell open when he realized what it was. "No shit," he blurted out. Had hell frozen over? He wanted to call someone. He closed his mouth, reading it again and again.

I'm not a smart guy. Barely graduated high school. I can be a complete idiot most of the time. All the time. This is not what I want to do because I don't know what I want to do. Just stay in Dillon and have my house. Work on my cars. That had kind of become a job in itself. He'd sold a few of the classics that he'd rebuilt and started farming out his services to people in town. But it wasn't a real garage. He couldn't do that anymore.

Buddy had made him a manager of the bar. He'd retain ownership, but Tim would take over most of the responsibilities of day-to-day managing. "Hell," he mumbled. He looked down at the bottom. There'd be benefits, whatever those were. He dropped it back into the drawer, slumping forward.

It was two in the morning, he thought. He wasn't sure what he should say to Buddy, if Buddy ever really brought it up. I just don't do this stuff? It had responsibility and crap. He sighed, reaching for his phone. He sent a text and then set it aside, waiting a moment. It buzzed. He picked it back up, smiling.

_Don't burn the place down. But your people skills will do you well managing a bar where you have to TALK TO PEOPLE. My dad can be so dumb. _

"Aw shit," he cursed. He didn't even think of that. What was Buddy thinking?

* * *

"I can't believe you manage the bar," Becky said, flouncing about his house in her new red Betsey Johnson sandals, which had cost him a fortune. She ruffled Hemi's ears and then hopped up on the counter. "That's just crazy."

"Well Buddy's gotta' take a back seat, so I'm helping him out for now." It was not a career. It was just a job. Which he hated, so he supposed like millions of Americans, he was just living life. Tim took a beer from the fridge. "I think I'm going to let Mindy take over."

"She's already managing the Landing Strip, she can't take on the bar too."

Tim swallowed a sip of his beer. "Whatever."

Becky smiled wide at him. It had been about six months since Buddy's heart attack and since he'd gotten the bar. "You seem happier though. Like you have something to do so you're happier."

"Whatever."

"How's the carpentry coming?"

"Work in progress." He'd started carpentry. It wouldn't pay the bills just yet, but he liked it. Along with his cars. He liked working on his trucks too, now that he had three he was fiddling with. He was even going on dates with a nice lady from Westerbee who taught at the elementary school. "I'm a certified grown-up."

"Pansy."

"I know," he sighed.

"Least' you won't end up like Buddy."

"Buddy'll be fine," he mumbled. He set his beer down when the doorbell rang. "You expecting someone?" Wouldn't be the first time Becky had come to his house and then a rager was going on ten minutes later.

"Nope."

Tim pulled open the front door, staring at the person on the 'GO AWAY' mat that Tyra had gotten him the last time she'd been in town. He leaned on the door jamb. "You selling Girl Scout cookies?"

"The Thin Mints are kind of like little bits of sin from the Devil designed to tempt you."

"I agree, what's up?" He wasn't interested in flirting.

Lyla swayed from side to side on the doorstep. She shrugged, her hands in her pockets. A smile pulled on her lips. "I…I am going to be in town for some time…helping my dad get back on his feet…" She ran her tongue over her teeth. "You know."

"That was six months ago, the home care nurse and me are fine," Tim said. Buddy had had a couple setbacks. Nothing too serious, just another mild heart attack and some weakness issues. It was nothing that he couldn't handle with the nurse. He didn't mind having to check on him. They had their standing Sunday football dates, as Becky joked.

"Well he'll need some more help. He's getting up there."

"He's not even sixty."

Lyla scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm staying here for longer than three days and I'm on your doorstep. Are you going to let me inside or not?"

Tim smiled, pulling the door open wider for her. "I was just wondering how long you could keep this going." He closed the door behind her, smiling to himself. Things were all falling into place.

* * *

"Tim Riggins."

"What's up?" Tim asked, looking up from the register. He smiled slightly at Buddy, who was sitting on one of the stools at the end of the bar. "You want water or something?"

"I'm fine."

Tim shrugged. Suit yourself. He'd been quiet for most of the night and into cleanup. He set a glass of water in front of Buddy anyway, before he returned to counting out the money for that night's take. He bundled the twenties, shoving them in the cash bag to drop at the bank that night. The rest he'd put in the safe. Dangerous to keep me around this much money, he always felt like warning Buddy. He turned around and Buddy was frowning at him. "Yes Mr. Garrity?"

"I think you can call me Buddy now."

I think that hell will freeze over when I call you Buddy. Tim didn't say anything. This seemed like it'd be a serious conversation and he didn't want to have a serious conversation. He had to have one sooner or later, since he wouldn't be working at the bar forever. His carpentry business was taking off. Buddy's had taught him a lot about management and now he wanted to do it on his own. In something he actually liked, since he absolutely hated the bar.

He set the bag at the end of the bar, leaning his forearms against it. "Well Mr. Garrity, I can't do that."

"Are you going to marry my daughter?"

Tim ran his tongue over his teeth. Lyla had gone back to California, where she'd been attending graduate school, getting her Ph.D. in something or another. "Um…not in the near future."

"One day, though?"

"I hope so."

"Then you can call me Buddy." Buddy smiled, climbing off the stool. He took a sip of the water, wincing and rubbing at his chest. He'd lost a ton of weight since his heart issues a few years before. He shook his head slightly and looked up, his voice soft. "I'm only going to say this once, so you better listen Tim Riggins." It's funny how you always call me by my full name, you want my middle name too, Tim felt like saying. He straightened up slightly and nodded, allowing Buddy to continue. "I think you've made something of yourself. I didn't like you as a kid. You were into all that trouble and you were good on the football field, I'll give you that, you were good on the football field so I overlooked a lot of it…"

Bullshit, Tim thought. You overlooked it because it could get me kicked off the football field and hated me the minute it interfered with your life, but go on. He nodded slightly. "Okay."

"Well," Buddy continued. "I know I didn't treat you fairly sometimes during your and Lyla's times together…you just gotta' understand she's my baby girl…"

You have another daughter, he felt like say too. "I know," he said.

"And well I…I meant what I said, when I spoke at your parole hearing those years ago. You're a good man and you…well I let you manage this bar when I couldn't do it because I trusted you and…and I know you don't want to do this forever because you've got other things, but…" Buddy took another deep breath and winced. "What I'm trying to say is that you're a good friend Tim and…and you're like a son to me. I want you to know that you have that with me. If you should ever want it."

Well…Tim wasn't sure what he felt. He stood up a little straighter. "Oh," he whispered. He thought this was going to be about Lyla or something. "Okay."

"You don't have to say anything, in fact, I know you won't, but you've been good to me these last few years. Helping me when I need it, even though you've got your life and you're young and all that…" Buddy smiled again. "And if you ever want my permission to marry Lyla, so long as you keep up this life you have now and don't break the rules again and don't go into those drinking binges again, well you can marry her."

I think Lyla would be happy you've given your permission, not that she needs it. Tim smiled quickly. He felt awkward now. Like he did when Coach would say things like that to him. "Well…thanks. Mr. Garrity."

"Buddy."

"Mr. Garrity." Tim took the empty glass and set it in the bin to be washed tomorrow. He collected the cash and nodded towards the back door. "I'm going to take this to the bank. You want me to lock up?"

"I'll lock up."

"Okey doke." He whistled for Hemi, who had sort of become the bar's mascot, and the beast jumped up from where he'd been sleeping on the small stage in the corner. He held open the door and looked to Buddy, who was still smiling at him. "Thanks sir."

"You're welcome Tim, but you don't need my thanks."

Yeah, well, maybe I kind of do, Tim thought, smiling again. "It's a lot, thanks," he said again.

Buddy nodded and lifted his fingers in a wave. "Drive safe oh and Tim…" He scowled deeply and lifted his finger, warning. "If you hurt her again. At all. You know that everything I just said…"

"I know," he answered quickly. He didn't need another one of those conversations with Buddy. He chuckled. "You just have to worry about her hurting me Mr. Garrity."

"I'll talk to her about that."

Good luck with that, Tim thought, smiling and walking out of the bar.

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
